


A Doing Word

by Mount_Seleya



Series: Winter's Song [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anilingus, Bottom Jaime, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Jaime, Plot What Plot, Post-Episode: s07e07 The Dragon and the Wolf, Showverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mount_Seleya/pseuds/Mount_Seleya
Summary: Jaime and Bronn fight and make up while staying at the Inn at the Crossroads on the ride north. Loose sequel toForged in Flame.





	A Doing Word

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Teardrop" by Massive Attack.

The inn was a riot of noise. Men thundered with laughter. Women tittered. Flagons met with loud clacks. In one corner, a young minstrel was plucking at a battered lute, the reedy warble of his voice fighting a losing war.  
  
Jaime looked at the trencher sitting on the table before him. Roast beef and boiled potatoes swam in thick gravy. The day's ride had been long and hard. Winter had the realm firmly in its grasp. His men were tired. Morale was low. And yet every mile they marched north was a victory. One step closer to uniting the living against the dead.  
  
_I've abandoned my unborn child_. The thought crashed to the fore of Jaime's mind. Bile rose at the back of his throat. An image of his sister coalesced in his mind's eye. She would be heavy by now. Huge and frightened and alone.  
  
"Tavern fare not fit for shitting out your fancy arse?" came a low voice over the merry racket.  
  
Lifting his gaze from his neglected meal, Jaime met the cool, knife-grey press of Bronn's eyes from across the table. "My appetite seems to have forsaken me," he said, reaching for his tankard where it sat on the table.  
  
"Should've ordered the pie like that nice lad suggested," Bronn replied.  
  
Jaime lifted the tankard to his lips. Downed a deep swig of ale. Heat licked down his gullet and settled in his belly. His heart ached. It had been aching for nearly two moons. A golden thread had riven the day he fled King's Landing. And now it haunted his dreams every night, the terrible, scraping ring of the Mountain unsheathing his sword.  
  
"You're thinking of your sister again," Bronn stated. There was an edge to the words. A quiet sort of anger.  
  
"You don't _understand_ ," Jaime seethed. He was too tired for this quarrel. Too tired for anything.  
  
"Can't say I do," Bronn rejoined, thin brows climbing his creased forehead.  
  
Jaime blew out an affronted snort. Lowered his flagon to the table. Sprung from his chair with a skidding screech. He pushed through the ale-sodden throng, pounding up the stairs to the torchlit, shadow-cloaked second floor. Muffled moans carried through nearly every door he passed as he shuffled down the corridor to his chamber.  
  
The room was mercifully warm. A small fire blazed in the hearth. With a long, weary sigh, he undid his sword-belt. Standing the sword against the yellowed wall, he traipsed over to the round, rough-hewn table set in the far corner. He took the rag laying beside the washbasin. Dipped it into the cool water. Lightly dabbed at his bearded jaw.  
  
A slow creak broke the quiet. Footsteps tread into the room. Leather creaked. Metal met plaster with a hollow _thud_. Then came the whispering slither of clothing being shed and the careless thunk of boots being kicked off.  
  
Jaime wondered if this was how it went between lovers. If after that first, giddy spark, it was all silence and fights. He'd been born with his heart taken. Cersei was all he'd ever known. All he'd ever thought he could want.  
  
"Think it was easy getting out of the capital, _cunt?"_ Bronn finally snapped.  
  
Another sigh shuddered out of Jaime. He turned to meet the sharp grey glare. Firelight played across Bronn's face. The vicious pink gash of a recent knife-wound marred the lean belly just above the waist of his breeches.  
  
"I gave you enough gold to sail for any of the Free Cities," Jaime said, more tartly than intended.  
  
"Your sister wants my head on a spike right along with yours."  
  
"I didn't ask you to chase after me."  
  
"You _still_ don't get it," Bronn told him, taking a step forward. "You just charge ahead without a care in your head." Another step followed. Then another. "Doesn't matter if it's at a fucking dragon or an army of dead men."  
  
Words faltered on Jaime's tongue as deft hands lifted to undo the simple clasp fastening his black woollen cloak. His mouth hung open, a slack, stupid ring. He braced his false hand on the table. Sucked in a harsh breath. Time yawned for a moment, and then the hands swept the cloak from his shoulders with a soft, crisp rustle.  
  
Bronn stripped Jaime slowly. One by one, jerkin, tunic, and undershirt fell away. Then he reached for his right arm. Undid the lacings on the boiled-leather bracer securing the golden hand to his stump and slipped it off.  
  
"You need me," Bronn said, setting the hand on the table. "You can't even put on your bloody armour by yourself."  
  
"You've never helped with my armour," Jaime replied, low enough to bring out the sand in his voice.  
  
"Not with getting it on," Bronn conceded with a sly grin.  
  
Jaime gave a scoffing huff of a laugh. Leaning against the table, he splayed his thighs, an invitation and challenge. Bronn tarried a beat, hunger burning in his pale gaze, then surged forward, slotting into the bracket of Jaime's legs. Their groins nocked deliciously. Fingers tangled in Jaime's short hair. Drew him into a hard, ravenous kiss.  
  
Bronn began a lazy grind. Jaime groaned into his mouth. Wrapped his arms around the sloping shoulders. Heat built within his body, searing through his blood like white flame, twisting the sweet sharp knife of need in his loins.  
  
"I want to fuck your mouth," Jaime ground out when they finally parted.  
  
"Good thing I'm in a giving mood," Bronn crooned.  
  
Jaime tore open the laces of his breeches with a soft rustle. He held his stiff cock steady as Bronn got to his knees. Grey eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. Winter-rough hands gripped his hips. Then Bronn gave a tiny nod. Grabbing a fistful of lank, dark hair, Jaime yanked Bronn's head forward, shoving his length down the slack wet throat.  
  
He thrust into Bronn's mouth viciously. Lewd slurping smacks filled the air. Hot breaths puffed across his skin. He clutched Bronn's head, snapping his hips harder, harder, harder until at last his release crashed over him.  
  
Bronn coughed when Jaime pulled away a moment later. "Were you trying to murder me?"  
  
"You'll repay the insult soon enough," Jaime returned in a glib drawl.  
  
"That I will," Bronn affirmed, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. His hands dropped to undo the ties of his breeches. "Least you can do for marching me north to freeze my balls off is let me warm my cock in your lordly arse."  
  
A shivery little frisson coursed down the column of Jaime's spine. Hastily, he toed off his boots, shucked his breeches. The old bedstand creaked in protest as climbed onto it. Coarse woollen blankets rasped against his kneecaps. "Did you slip the innkeep a few dragons for her silence?" he asked, propping his body up on his forearms.  
  
"There's a nice pillow for you to bite," replied Bronn, items jostling as he rummaged in his pack.  
  
Jaime clenched his jaw. Huffed out an exasperated snort. "We _need_ to be discreet."  
  
Bare feet slapped against the floorboards. The bed juddered under a second weight. Hands gripped Jaime's hips. "Shouldn't be rooming with me if you don't want talk. Not like Jaime-fucking-Lannister is short on gold."  
  
Thumbs dug into Jaime's arse cheeks and prized them apart. Then came a shifting, and a slow, wet brush over his hole. He cried out with the shock of it, but before he could marshal his thoughts, Bronn's tongue was worming inside. After a week on the road, he knew he needed a proper wash, and yet that didn't dampen Bronn's fervour.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," Jaime gasped as the tongue gave a particularly wicked twist.  
  
Bronn pulled away some time later. He pushed on Jaime's hips to urge him down onto his belly. One knee settled between Jaime's legs, knocking them wider as his hand dove to retrieve a small, clay pot from the covers.  
  
"Get on with it," Jaime snarled over the swift slick beat of Bronn greasing his member.  
  
Bronn straddled Jaime's hips, bracing his hands upon the span of his shoulders, fitting the crown of his cock into place. A flare of pain sparked at the first punch, and then it was a slow glide inward, smooth as a knife carving butter.  
  
"Tight as a fucking septa," Bronn crowed once his balls were flush with Jaime's.  
  
"You've never bedded a septa," Jaime countered, a little raggedly.  
  
"Think every man's had his cock chained to one woman since the day he came into this world?"  
  
Warm weight draped over Jaime's back. Hands manacled his forearms to the bed. Lips scraped across the nape of his neck. Bronn began to move, easy, gentle rolls. Jaime let his eyes slip shut. Rocked back into his lover's sway.  
  
Jaime groaned as Bronn lightly nipped the shell of his ear. His renewed arousal rubbed against the covers with every thrust. There was a wholeness, here, with the lean hard body mantling him, the full heat of the cock working deep within. He felt unmade and shaped anew, unmade and shaped anew, buffeted further and further from the cares of his soul.  
  
"You're mine," Bronn said harshly. " _Mine_ , you fucker. No one gets to touch you. _No one_."  
  
" _Bronn_ ," Jaime grit out, part invocation, part demand.  
  
A hand slipped beneath Jaime. Fingers grasped his straining cock. He dammed his lips against a shout. The world burst into a blaze of pleasure as release finally overtook his body, and he spent with a long, bitten-off groan. Bronn sucked a kiss into the skin above his pulse-point, fucking into him in a sweet, unrelenting slide.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Bronn said, slamming to a halt a moment later. "Oh, love. Oh, _love_. That's it. Take it. _Take it_."  
  
Time smeared into a blissful haze in the aftermath. Chest hair tickled Jaime's back as they found their breath. The heat of Bronn's seed lingered inside him, deep and not entirely unpleasant, and a flame burned in his chest. Then, with a light, teasing bite to the tender skin below Jaime's ear, Bronn eased his cock out and shifted away.  
  
Jaime rolled over. Threw his right forearm over his eyes. "Must you always spend _in_ me?"  
  
"Keeps the covers clean," replied Bronn. "Now you just lay your well-fucked arse right there. I know you favour the right side of the bed, but a man makes a mess, he sleeps in it."


End file.
